Have you ever discovered a relative? As I walk upon the same ground farmed by my grandmother Mary, I wonder just what kind of woman was she?

I remember shelling peas on the back porch with her. She didn’t go in for much chit-chat. There was a companionable silence that I will always cherish. She would wash and cook the peas, dropping egg dumplings off a teaspoon into the simmering peas. I loved watching the dumplings pop up to the surface of the pan and plump up.

She was forced of necessity to become a successful homesteader in the most real sense of the word. Her husband lapsed into a coma when his insulin got lost in the mail. She was pregnant with their sixth child when he died. She had a 10-year-old son, my father, who took over the farm. He knew enough about their team of draft horses to be able to plant a crop.

I can’t image how much courage it took for her to press on and homestead by herself, but somehow she managed to keep the farm and raise her family. She never remarried.

The garden plots and orchard have laid farrow for close to 30 years. I remember the sweet concord grapes and crisp apples, just a few of the plantings that I long to restore to her former homestead. My new home will always be, in my heart and mind, Grandma Mary’s homestead.

Concerning ways to make money, she was ingenious! She made everything herself. From the hand-forged open kettle (built by her father-in-law a blacksmith for her lye soap) to her butter churn to feed sack dresses, she knew how to save money by making do with what was available to her. She used all the skill-sets of an off-the-grid homesteader. She raised cattle, pigs, poultry, and draft horses.  She was the master of her wood cook stove, heated the house with coal burners and didn’t have indoor plumbing until 1974.

One of her daughters came out to her childhood home, our new project, and drank in the view. She surprised me by telling me that what I thought was the large coop to the south of the property was just the chicken house for the laying hens. A massive structure existed to the east where she raised turkeys for sale for Thanksgiving and geese for Christmas. Dressing out large birds in late fall would have been no picnic, but she was determined to make ends meet. I remember as a little girl being surrounded in the chicken yard by tiny yellow Cornish Cross chicks that she raised not only for her family but for sale too.

All the days I knew her there was a quilt frame in the main room of her small house. She was skilled at the art of “marking” a quilt. If you have never seen that done, cardboard cutouts and a sharp pencil were used to trace the design used by the quilters to form the patterns on the quilt top. If you messed up, there was no turning back as you couldn’t easily erase the pencil marks. She quilted for others as an additional way to bring in money. There was usually at least a six-month waiting list for her to mark and hand-stitch your quilt. I could always tell which quilts were hers as her delicate handiwork measured 8 to 10 stitches per inch: a true artist!

She made each grandchild an heirloom quilt that she gave as a gift when they married. One day when I was in my late twenties, I visited her, and she handed me a beautiful quilt. “Here,” she said, “I don’t see you getting married but I want to be fair so here is your quilt.” She was an outspoken but kind-hearted woman!

I wish I had a chance to know her as an adult, but I regret that I wasn’t wise enough to take the time. That generation of tough old Germans did not open up and share their feelings or their memories easily. As she aged, she was happiest when her family gathered around her table and crammed into her tiny three-room house. I have happy memories of playing with my city cousins who loved running on the dusty field roads on a warm summer’s day!

I have a lot to live up to if I want to walk in this lady’s footsteps. She was not only a great homesteader but also a woman of faith. She had an inner strength that only comes from knowing who you are in Christ Jesus. If you are fortunate enough to have a family member who you don’t know well or even that special friend: take time this Mother’s Day weekend to discover your own “family heirloom.” Have a great time celebrating all the special ladies in your life!

With warm regards!  Ann May